“Didn’t expect to pull you out of the ditch, young man,” observed the destroyer’s lieutenant-commander. “We picked up a wireless signal ordering us to search for a junk that had taken part in the capture of Ah-Foo, but we had no idea you were mixed up in the business.”
“It’s no use searching for that junk,” announced the midshipman. “She blew up. The Ah-Foo’s doc and I are the only survivors—and that was a bit of luck! But, sir, where are you making for—Hong Kong?”
“Perhaps, in ten days’ time.”
“I say, sir! I’m under orders to join Sandgrub at Shanghai!”
The lieutenant-commander smiled.
“You’ve missed the bus!”
Raxworthy’s face fell. This was a catastrophe! Through no fault of his own he would be unable to report for duty in Sandgrub, and his chance of “smelling powder” up the Yang-tse had vanished. It might never recur.
Buster’s owner heard his story sympathetically.
“Sorry, Raxworthy,” he said kindly. “You’ll have to remain aboard us till we rejoin the Flag. I’ll wireless the admiral and report that you’re safe. And, unless I’m much mistaken, you won’t regret it, ‘cause we, like Sandgrub, have a little job of work in hand. There’s a nice little nest of pirates over yonder, and we’re under orders to make things hot for them.”
Midshipman Raxworthy positively beamed.
He wasn’t altogether sure that Sandgrub would be in action up the Yang-tse; but from the lieutenant-commander of the Buster’s words there was every prospect of the destroyer being in the thick of it before very long.
“Good egg, sir!” he exclaimed joyfully.
PART III
DEFERRED PROMOTION
“Feeling merry and bright, and all that sort of thing, Raxworthy?” inquired Lieutenant-commander Maynebrace. “You don’t look the same fellow as the scarecrow we pulled out of the ditch yesterday.”
“Fresh as paint, sir,” replied the midshipman.
“Paint put over a wet substance causes blisters,” continued Buster’s Owner. “So perhaps that accounts for the bump on your figure-head being still in evidence.”
“It’s not painful, really,” Raxworthy hastened to assure his host and superior officer.
“That’s just as well, since I’m thinking of putting you on to a spot of work,” rejoined Maynebrace. “Hello, Cotterdell—let me introduce our new snottie, Raxworthy.”
The new arrival—one of Buster’s two lieutenants—nodded cheerfully across the table.
“My watch below when they picked you up yesterday,” observed Cotterdell. “You’ve had a pretty sticky time, I understand.”
It was breakfast-time in Buster’s wardroom. Raxworthy had been “kitted out” as far as the resources of the ship and the generosity of her officers permitted. He was wearing one of Sub-lieutenant Cartwright’s tropical uniforms, which bore badges of rank that the midshipman was not entitled to wear.
Somewhat diffidently he mentioned the fact to the lieutenant-commander. Maynebrace pooh-poohed the objection.
“You can’t expect that Cartwright will let you carve his suit about,” he remarked. “Besides, all ratings know your rank. You aren’t in a crack light cruiser now, young fellow, but in one of the handmaidens of the fleet. I suppose you’ll soon pass for sub-lieutenant?”
“Another twelvemonth, I expect.”
“Probably. By the bye, I wirelessed the admiral last night, requesting that you may be temporarily borne on the books of Buster. He’ll no doubt reply giving permission. It doesn’t much matter; you’re here, and here you’ll jolly well stop for at least another nine days. I suppose you are absolutely sure that there’s another pirate junk knocking around?”
“I couldn’t be absolutely sure, sir, but it sounded like it. We didn’t catch sight of her, from start to finish.”
“I hope to goodness there is another pirate at large,” confessed Maynebrace. “It will be frightfully disappointing if we’re burning oil fuel for nine days for nothing. But so far, except for your evidence, there’s nothing to prove that recent incidents of piracy in these waters are the work of more than one gang. In addition to the capture and looting of the Ah-Foo, two British steamers were stopped by a junk hoisting signals of distress, and at least three Chinese-owned tramps have been seized and pillaged. Unfortunately, the case of the Ah-Foo is the most recent, so if only one pirate junk is concerned, it looks as if our independent cruise is a wash-out.”
“The junk that captured us was in action, sir.”
“Yes; but who with? It might have been a Chinese government gunboat.”
“She’d be armed with a quick-firer. I’m quite certain there was only an exchange of rifle and machine-gun fire,” countered Raxworthy.
“By Jove! I hope you’re right,” rejoined the lieutenant-commander. “What do you think, Cotterdell?”
The officer addressed shook his head.
“Don’t know what to think. We know where these cut-throat gentry hang out when they are at home. Why doesn’t the admiral give orders for us to shell their base to blazes?”
“ ‘Cause China’s a recognized republic having a seat on the League of Nations, and consequently empowered to sit in judgment upon other countries that are infinitely better governed than she is. That’s the irony of it,” continued Maynebrace. “She’s taking no steps to repress piracy, and we can’t violate her territory even to exterminate the blighters who take to it. All we can do is to try and catch ’em napping outside territorial waters, and they’re as artful as a wagon-load of monkeys!”
It was Raxworthy’s first morning in a destroyer, and already he had come to the conclusion that it was a pleasant change from service in a light cruiser. There was less irksome and often unnecessary routine and no short-tempered commander to harry him at sundry times, simply because the Bloke had to jump on somebody—it was his idea of discipline—and midshipmen fall an easy prey.
In Buster there was no gun-room. The officers—eight all told—were a sociable, brotherly crowd in their off-duty moments in the wardroom, but terribly efficient when on watch. In spite of Maynebrace’s remark that Buster was one of the handmaidens of the fleet—a term applied to destroyers, armed drifters and other small craft—it was his aim and ambition to keep his command in such a state of high efficiency that even the most critical admiral could find no fault with her.
“I suppose I’d better let you have the customary twenty-four hours in which to sling your hammock, Raxworthy?” remarked the lieutenant-commander at the conclusion of the morning meal.
“I’d just as soon carry on, sir!”
“Very well, then; see how you like standing middle watch!”
The midshipman smiled. It was just the thing he wanted—to spend from midnight to four in the morning on the bridge of a destroyer at sea.
Just then a messenger entered the wardroom.
“Officer-of-the-watch reports a vessel in sight on our port bow, sir, steering nor’-west.”
“Very good,” replied the lieutenant-commander. “I’ll be on deck in a brace of shakes!”